New Year's Day in San Francisco was one of pomp and triumphs, and
much secret heart-burning. Every woman who had a house threw it open
and the many that lived in hotels were equally hospitable. There was
a constant procession of family barouches, livery stable buggies and
hacks. The "whips" drove their mud-bespattered traps with as grand an
air as if on the Cliff House Road in fine weather; and while none was
ignored whose entertaining was lavish, those who could count only on
admiration and friendship compared notes eagerly during the following
week.

But young men in those days were more gallant or less snobbish than
in these, and few pretty girls, however slenderly dowered, were
forgotten by their waltzing partners. The older men went only to the
great houses, and frankly for eggnog. Mrs. Abbott's was famous and so
was Mrs. McLane's. Ladies who lived out of town the year round, that
their husbands might "sleep in the country!" received with their more
fortunate friends.

It had been Madeleine's intention to have her own reception at the
hotel as usual, but when Mrs. McLane craved her assistance--Marguerite
was receiving with Mrs. Abbott, now her mother-in-law--she consented
willingly, as it would reduce her effort to entertain progressively
illuminated men to the minimum. She felt disinclined to effort of
any sort.

Mrs. McLane, after her daughter's marriage, had tired of the large
house on Rincon Hill and the exorbitant wages of its staff of
servants, and returned to her old home in South Park, furnishing her
parlors with a red satin damask, which also covered the walls. She